


On the Other Line

by lilithiumwords



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Bilbo is a Bean, Ethical Dilemmas, Fantasizing, Fantasy Office Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Bilbo, Phone Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Stand Alone, Workplace, romantic comedy if you squint, that one sex operator fic that everyone didn't know they wanted until they saw this tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithiumwords/pseuds/lilithiumwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lonely and desperate, Bilbo once called a phone sex line and enjoyed, for a time, pleasure with the exclusive and grumpy Tomas. He never in a million years imagined <i>meeting</i> him, yet that is precisely what happens, when Bilbo's workplace hires a new operator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Other Line

Bilbo's sex phone line addiction started when he turned 29. He was two months after a terrible breakup with his long-time lover, Erestor, and he was miserable, horny, and in desperate need of something other than his own hand. He couldn't bear to seek out someone at a club or bar, and he wasn't the sort of person to hire a prostitute (never mind that his mother would skin him for thinking about it). So that left telephone sex.

Altogether, it went fairly well, for all that the bills were terribly costly to his bank account. Ah, well, at least his paychecks were being put to good use.

"Do you like that, burglar? My fingers fucking you open. Are you going to beg for my cock? Lying there with your fingers stuffed up your sensitive hole, just not thick enough, not going deep enough. Won't you beg for me? You want me to grant you relief."

"Nn--no, I won't --"

"Don't be stubborn. Take your fingers out. That dildo you bought last week, pick it up and stroke it, slowly. Lick the tip of it. Can you taste me on your tongue? Now pour some lube on it. Stroke it slowly. It's pulsing in your hand now, as I try to hold myself back. I want to fuck you now, burglar."

"Yes, please -- please fuck me, Tomas."

"There, was that so hard? You lie back as I kneel between your legs, my cock pushing against your tiny, wet hole. I push it in... slowly... That's _me_ , better than anyone else."

"Ohh, I can feel it, your cock, it's splitting me open, so much better --"

"Fuck, you sound so good riding my cock, burglar --"

Very well indeed.

~

His favorite (and really the only person he ever calls) is Tomas, whose deep voice and grumpy, dominating attitude leave Bilbo weak at the knees every expensive minute he listens to him. The man is _addicting_ , and Bilbo has to stop; he needs a real relationship, or at least he needs to stop spending so much money on a stranger.

So when Bilbo answers the phone one June morning at work, and instead of the cheerful, sunny voice of Miss Daisy, he hears the deep, melodious, and rather grumpy voice of his favorite sex line operator, he does the only sane thing anyone would do. 

"Mister Baggins, you have a call from Rosie Burrows. May I transfer?"

Bilbo hangs up so fast that he knocks the phone off the desk.

_Did I imagine that? Was that Tomas? No, it only sounded like him -- oh shit, a call from Miss Burrows? I need to answer that, we've been working with her for months, I can't mess up the account now!_

Quickly Bilbo puts the phone back to rights, and he hurries to his door to peek out at his secretary. "Holman, is Daisy out today?"

Holman blinks at him over his computer. "Daisy's last day was yesterday, Bilbo. Remember, we had that card going around? You signed it, right?"

"Oh," Bilbo says, thinking furiously and smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. "Of course! Of course, how could I forget? Thank you for the tea." He snatches the cup off Holman's desk and makes a strategic retreat, in time to hear his phone ring sharply. He ignores Holman's eyeroll as he closes the door.

"Oh dear," he mutters to himself, picking up the phone cautiously. "Hello?"

"Mister Baggins," snaps Tomas, or the man who sounds very much like him, "You have a call from Rosie Burrows. May I transfer?"

"Er, so sorry about that," Bilbo mumbles, but in the next moment, he hears Rosie's smooth voice, and he is sufficiently distracted for the time being.

Every time Bilbo gets a call, he is greeted by the increasing grumpiness of their mysterious new operator, who is so curt with Bilbo that he dares not ask any questions. He did try, once.

"Mister Baggins, you have an incoming call from Mister Took. May I transfer?"

"Are you having a good first day, then? Er, sorry, your name was again...?"

"Transferring now." The sour tone of the stranger's voice leaves Bilbo temporarily breathless and somewhat afraid for his life. He resolves to be very careful with their new operator from now on. There's no possible way the man is actually Tomas... right?

Lunch reveals some information about the new operator.

"Aye, he's an older chap with an excellent resume," Bofur beams as he delivers Bilbo's sandwich. "Thorin, I think his name is. They've been training him for a couple weeks now. Haven't had any complaints -- wait, did you say he was rude?"

"Oh, no," Bilbo hurries to explain. "He's just very, um... thorough. Intense? He doesn't seem to like me," he finishes weakly, and Bofur's grin widens to something rather wicked.

"Shut you down right quick, did he? Not surprised. Apparently he's very popular already, but he's shot down all the ladies and lads who've tried flirting. Ah, well. Got a nice voice, and he's good at calls. Maybe if you left your office once in a while, you'd meet him." Bofur eyes him slyly.

Bilbo turns a most unbecoming shade of pink. "If people wish to visit me, they are perfectly welcome to! And this Thorin works in Daisy's old office, right? On the other side of the building. We'll never see each other. Now, can you put my sign up, please?"

Bofur picks up the sign, which reads "No Visitors During Lunch!" and gives Bilbo a narrow-eyed stare before leaving him alone with his sandwich.

He is twenty minutes into a riveting book about the history of bondage when an unwelcome sound drags him out of reverie and firmly back into reality. For a moment Bilbo stares at his phone, stunned; not once, in the past eight years, has his phone rung during lunch, not since he had made it clear to Miss Daisy that his precious lunch hours were not to be interrupted.

Seems he-who-was-not-Tomas did not know that.

Bewildered, and more than a little afraid (the subject matter of his book is a little daunting, and he _had_ been thinking about Tomas), Bilbo ignores the phone. The ringing stops, but the voicemail alert never comes on. For a moment, Bilbo thinks that it was an honest mistake and that someone would correct the new operator soon, but --

_Ring, ring._

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Bilbo mutters, snatching up the phone. "Look, I'm not sure if anyone's told you, but I don't take calls during my lunch. It's every day from twelve to one. If there is an issue, you can tell them to email me." He gives an angry huff, a tiny noise escaping him in his frustration. He's been thinking about sex all day and he wants to go home and call Tomas, and he doesn't need this new operator, _who sounds like Tomas,_ to call him during his only time alone.

The silence on the other end is so loud it makes Bilbo's heart skip a beat, because it is followed by a small grunt that is far, far too familiar. "I apologize, Mister Baggins."

Bilbo sits very still, yet Thorin the operator does not hang up. "Oh, it's alright," he says, a tad breathless, and he hears a sharp intake of breath. Then Tomas' low voice comes over the line, confused and anxious and hopeful.

"Burglar?"

"Oh dear," Bilbo whimpers, then hangs up quickly and retreats to the other side of the office. His phone does not ring for the rest of lunch, and when Thorin does call him with another client, his tone is stiff and stilted, barely giving Bilbo a chance to respond before he transfers.

Oddly enough, it makes Bilbo's heart ache, but he dares not say anything to Thorin about their other life over the phone. The calls are recorded by policy, and Bilbo refuses to let any part of his personal life stay in the records of Took & Baggins any more than need be.

That evening, he waits until most of the staff has left; it's not unusual for him to stay late, so no one makes an issue of it. He takes a small envelope with _Thorin_ written across the paper and walks across the building, going down two floors to the administration center, and he pauses by the small window office at the end of the hall. The door is locked, so Bilbo slips the envelope under the door and flees back to his office, determined to get home as quickly as possible.

_I won't tell anyone. I'm sorry. --B_

~

_"How would you like me to address you during our session? Anything you prefer is fine."_

_"Oh, dear. I really don't know, I've never done this before. I suppose my name is too much?"_

_"We respect your privacy, and we encourage anonymity for your comfort. Do you have a nickname?"_

_"Well, no, not really. My cousins used to call me a little thief, and my last boyfriend called me bumblebee, because he said I have quite the sting when I lose my temper. I don't want to be called that, though."_

_"Little thief, hm? Why did they call you that?"_

_"Because I always took the last cherry pie whenever my aunt made them. I only saw her a few times a year, so why not? It's not like anyone ever minded besides my cousins."_

_"Oho? So you burgled a lot as a youth?"_

_"Only pies! Dessert and puddings are serious business. Er, they said your name was Tomas?"_

_"You can call me Tomas, or anything else you desire. I think I will call you burglar in return."_

_"What! I am not a burglar! I'm not sure I like that, Tomas --"_

_"If it is not to your liking... but now that I've caught you, burglar, I can't let you go."_

_"... Well, I did once have a nice fantasy about sex with handcuffs."_

__

~

He does not call the sex line again. It drains him, because every day he has to listen to Tomas' -- Thorin's -- voice on the phone, and not a single whisper of it is sexy in any way, but that does not stop his fantasies.

Weeks pass, yet Bilbo becomes more of a recluse than ever. He doesn't dare leave his office during working hours for fear of running into Thorin. He gets his work done, his clients are more appreciative than ever, but Holman keeps giving him worried looks, and Bofur has taken to dropping by every few hours to try to pry him out of his office. It never works. He can manipulate Bofur into leaving him alone every time, but it gets harder. Even Nori begins to sneak into his office, pilfering his sugar to lure him down to the dining hall. 

His friends are worried. Bilbo understands that, yet he just cannot step out of his tiny world, else he make another person, who was once becoming very important to him, extremely uncomfortable. He does not want to harass Thorin. Bad enough he knows about Thorin's other job, but to make Thorin's work life uncomfortable here? He knows that the company has good benefits, once Thorin passes his probationary period. He does not want to ruin someone else's job.

He's also afraid of meeting Thorin, but he refuses to admit to it.

Thorin doesn't say a word to him, other than their perfunctory call connections. He does his job admirably, handling the influx of calls with ease, and Bilbo hears more than a few compliments about his work ethic and voice. Bofur heralds his ability to deal with angry clients and customers, and even his grandfather is pleased with the amount of information Thorin can get from callers before he transfers them.

Bilbo is glad that Thorin is settling into the company, but he still does not leave his office much. He tries to wait ten minutes or so after he is meant to leave, so that he can avoid the rush of people heading to their cars. Every morning when he walks in, he wonders if the men he does not recognize are Tomas. Thorin.

Bilbo is very confused about all of it.

~

Three months after Thorin is hired, Bilbo isn't sleeping well. Work has become a nightmare ever since his grandfather hired Bilbo's cousins, the Sackville-Bagginses, to manage collections. They are ruthless bordering on illegal, and since Bilbo handles client relations, he is left dealing with the mess left behind every time a policy is thoughtlessly destroyed. He wishes that Lobelia and Otho would go back to pilfering his mother's spoons over this nonsense.

They've always hated him for being hired at his parents' company almost immediately after graduating early with honors. What else would Bilbo do? He followed in his father's footsteps to business and took his mother's advice to focus on risk management and analytics. He was good at what he did then, and he's even better now. Meanwhile, Otho went into biology and had hated it, then got huffy whenever Bilbo's schooling came up. How he has convinced the old Took to hire both him and Lobelia, who at least has a finance degree, is anybody's guess.

They keep invading his office, too, completely ignoring his signs and his secretary's firm orders. Bilbo starts locking his office at certain times of the day just to avoid them.

Things are still tense between him and Thorin, too, but sometimes it makes him feel better to hear Thorin's voice whenever he gets a call. He still won't call the sex line -- hell, he's not even sure if Thorin still works there as Tomas -- and the stress is giving him nightmares. He hardly has time to wank lately, and the frustration is dragging him down.

He never realized what getting regular sexual release did for his blood pressure. Not to mention his headaches, or his worsening addiction to strong tea, or his ability to manage unexpected problems at work. He misses not being stressed. His friends' worry is obvious, but what surprises Bilbo the most is when Thorin asks him one morning, in a quiet and serious tone, if he is alright. 

"I," Bilbo starts to say, staring at the lit-up line on his phone. Thorin just informed him that the caller had hung up but that he suspected it was one of Bilbo's many cousins, and the phone number confirmed it was Rory, likely calling about the party next week. The party which Bilbo had promised to assist in planning, but which he had completely forgotten.

His voice cracks and suddenly his eyes grow wet, as his face heats up with embarrassment. "I'm fine," he manages to say, but even to his ears, the words sound weak.

"I don't think you are," Thorin says after a moment. "Should I block the person if he calls back? Is he bothering you?"

"Oh, no, don't do that. It's just my cousin, he's probably calling about the Brandybuck party next week, and I've got so much to do already and I promised him, and... oh, you don't need to hear about this," Bilbo sniffs, pulling out his handkerchief. "I'm sorry."

Thorin is silent for a few seconds. "You don't need to apologize, Mr. Baggins, not to me."

Bilbo pauses in dabbing at his nose, blinking at the phone. "Tom-- ...Thorin. I, um. I'm sorry," he whispers feebly. "You've caught me at a bad time. If Rory calls back, just send him through. I'm just a bit stressed... um, busy at the moment."

Thorin makes a low noise, as if he is on the edge of losing his temper, which Bilbo has had the luck to experience a time or two with Tomas, yet he doesn't say anything for a moment. Then he grumbles, "Stress is bad for you. Maybe you should make a few calls to fix that." Then he hangs up.

Bilbo does not put the phone down immediately, even though the dial tone starts and then begins to beep. He sets the receiver down slowly, lifting his head to stare out the window and knowing that Thorin must have meant the phone sex line. Was he still working there? Did he miss Bilbo?

Bilbo does not start crying out of frustration, but it is a near thing.

~

At one point, he gives in to fantasy. He doesn't dare call the phone sex line, but he pulls out his favorite erotic book one weekend evening and reads through his favorite sex scene, with the domineering Thompson and the cheeky Baxter. He once told Tomas about the book, and they reenacted part of the scene in a most pleasurable manner.

Now, though, Bilbo simply reads, to the point that Baxter begins to beg Thompson, and then his eyes fall closed as his hand slides down to his lap.

_"What is this I hear, Mr. Baxter? Is that a 'please' you whimpered?" Thompson had his hand pressed against the small of Baxter's back, keeping him pinned as he worked his fingers slowly inside. He crooked his fingers to probe against that special spot. Baxter whimpered again, turning his head and bucking against the desk._

_"P-please, Mr. Thompson, I'm so sorry," Bilbo whined, rutting against Thompson's hand. He was the picture of masculinity, yet he was powerless against Tomas' advances. He looked vulnerable, pressed over Tomas' desk with his pants around his knees, his vest and shirt rucked up below his armpits._

_Tomas sighed and thrust his fingers deeper into Bilbo, watching the sweat drip down his tawny, muscular back. "You've been very naughty, you know. Messing up my files, leaving my office in disarray... I hope you understand I don't wish to do this. You need to be punished, though."_

_"Yes," gasped Bilbo. "Please punish me, Thorin! I need your punishment!" He was ready, his slick hole aching for Thorin's cock._

_Thorin growled and pulled his fingers out, lining his dripping cock up with Bilbo's hole, and in one thrust --_

Bilbo's eyes fly open as he strokes himself, moaning as he imagines Thorin's voice saying those filthy things to him, just like he had before. He shudders and lifts his hips, losing himself to the fantasy, trying to imagine Tomas instead, but he cannot; he wants it, wants Thorin fucking him on his desk.

Bilbo is grateful that, for the next week, he is mostly out of town and away from the office. He's not sure he can look at his desk the same way again.

He's not sure he can _speak to Thorin ever again,_ but somehow he manages it. For his job, if not his sanity.

~

He stays late one night in November to finish an uptraining project that will hopefully make the collections floor less likely to throw a revolt. The company stays open until eight, and it's approaching half past seven when he gets a call.

Blinking in bemusement, Bilbo stares at the phone until the third ring then scrambles to answer.

"This is Bilbo."

"Mr. Baggins," says Thorin in confusion. Clearly he did not expect Bilbo to answer this late. Bilbo is equally bewildered; was Thorin working overtime?

"I thought you only worked the day shift," he replies without thinking, then has to resist smacking himself. He sounds like a stalker! He shouldn't know the man's schedule!

"I do," Thorin says slowly. "Had to make up some time. You have a call from Lobelia Sackville-Baggins." Even through the phone, Bilbo can hear the distaste at saying the name. Lobelia and Otho are not very popular managers.

"Oh no," Bilbo groans. "I'll never get this finished." He checks his cellphone and curses under his breath, too tired to silence himself. "Four missed calls? And three texts... All about what I shouldn't include in the project. It's her fault I'm here this late anyway," he mumbles, sulking. "I suppose you can transfer the call." He dreads the conversation, though. Lobelia was furious when the old Took gave the project to Bilbo, and she hasn't stopped trying to take control of it since.

Thorin is silent for a moment. Then he says unexpectedly, "I'll tell her you're busy." Then he hangs up, and Bilbo is left staring at his phone in shock. What?

No one stood up to Lobelia and survived. Yet a minute later, Bilbo gets another text telling him that she would come see him in the morning, and that she couldn't stand the rude man who answered the phone and would be sure to file a complaint against him.

Bilbo suddenly realizes he is grinning. He will make sure the complaint was dismissed, if she even filed it. Nobody deserves Lobelia's wrath.

~

Work is less stressful after that. The uptraining works, Otho and Lobelia don't routinely destroy policy on a daily basis, and Bilbo sleeps a little easier every night. He is still stressed and exhausted, but he no longer feels harangued.

He misses Tomas.

It wasn't even a relationship, and that's what drives Bilbo to distraction. He had hired Tomas to make him orgasm. Phone sex was little more than a verbal agreement for sex with a large price tag. Tomas had not been his lover, had remained a faceless voice, but Bilbo had grown attached regardless. They had talked sometimes, after sex, about little things. Favorite tea mixes, the bad weather, Tomas' missing gloves. It didn't make a relationship, yet Bilbo's heart had grown fond anyway. It was ridiculous.

It's even worse, having met the owner of Tomas' sultry voice.

One Thursday afternoon back in August, when his water kettle broke down and the replacement wouldn't arrive for another day, Bilbo ventured down to the dining area, which had snack machines, a lovely kitchen, and most importantly, a kettle. He brought his favorite mug and a bag of tea and settled against the counter heavily, staring down into the marble as the water began to pour. It took less than a minute, and Bilbo had gratefully wrapped his hands around the mug and was turning to leave, when he walked right into somebody.

Large hands grabbed his arms, which caused him to drop the tea. He froze at the shatter on the ground, and he jerked away with a cry of alarm. "Oh no," he moaned, seeing the spilled tea and the broken pieces of his mug, the one Erestor had given him years ago. He had to close his eyes to hold in tears. Icing on the cake of a terrible day at the end of a horrible week. He knelt down and gingerly began picking up the cracked pieces, trying and failing to figure out how he can glue it back together.

"I'm so sorry," said a familiar voice, and Bilbo froze again. He looked up cautiously and nearly fell over. He knew the voice, as Thorin called him daily, but he had never met the man; had never even planned on it. He hadn't thought his heart could take it.

He had been right.

Thorin, also known as Tomas, was a tall man with thick black hair and striking blue eyes, with a five o'clock shadow that dipped down on a long neck, taut like the bleached cliffside of a mountain that Bilbo suddenly could not help but imagine climbing.

"Oh dear," he whimpered, and Thorin's face jerked up as he knelt beside Bilbo. They stared at each other for a long minute.

Bilbo was sure that his face was brighter than the moon with his embarrassment. His gaze dropped to the puddle and he continued picking up pieces of his broken mug, miserable and determined to escape as quickly as possible. He did not need this right now.

After a moment Thorin stood up and left him, and Bilbo swallowed against the sudden heat in his throat. He was surprised when Thorin knelt down again with a roll of paper towels, wiping away the tea where Bilbo had already cleared the shards.

They worked together silently until the spill had been cleaned. Bilbo stood and went to the trash can, mourning the last thing he had from his ex-boyfriend before dropping the pieces gently into the bin. He turned to see Thorin staring at him, but Bilbo couldn't even look at him. Thorin's pants had splatters of tea; Bilbo's foot was soaked and cold.

"I'm sorry," Thorin said when Bilbo passed him, making his next step falter.

He dared to look up. Oh, his heart just could not take this; Thorin was beautiful, better than any fantasy he ever had of Tomas, and this was how they first meet?

"It's okay, really," Bilbo replied. He couldn't even muster a smile. He headed for the door, but he paused again when he heard Thorin's voice.

"Chamomile, right?" Thorin asked quietly.

Bilbo blushed bright red. He remembered that conversation all too well.

_"That was lovely, Tomas. Now all I need is a cup of tea and today will be perfect."_

_"Oh? And what kind of tea do you prefer this late, burglar?"_

_"I like chamomile if I've had a stressful day, with a bit of honey. It's very relaxing, you should try it sometime."_

_"Mm, that sounds amazing right now. A steaming cup of tea after a long day..."_

"It was the last bag," Bilbo said without thinking, then backpedaled when he realized how that sounded. "I have others! It's okay! Um." He winced and did not dare look up. "Sorry for spilling it on you." He fled, and he refused to hear the end of Thorin calling after him,

"--aggins, wait."

The next morning, Bilbo walked into his office to find a mug sitting on his desk, next to a new box of chamomile tea with a small envelope. The mug was stonewear with a sparkling green glaze and leaves trailing over the handle. It even had a thumb rest. The bottom of the mug was signed with a small drawing of a hammer, and Bilbo fell in love immediately.

_I made this with you in mind a few months ago. I hope it makes up for yesterday. --T_

Oh, his heart just cannot handle Thorin.

Bilbo uses the mug daily now, washing it with care and making excellent use of the new kettle in his office. His heart hurts sometimes, though, because he knows that what he feels isn't real. That it was just an apology, not because he means anything to Thorin.

~

December rolls around. The company is closed for two weeks for the holidays, and on the last day before the break, Bilbo is kept late at the office for half an hour because Otho left behind a massive mess in the meeting room from that afternoon. He is irritated with his cousin already, notwithstanding the fight they had at the meeting, and he just wants to go home and curl up in his favorite chair with a good book and a mug of spiced cider. He doesn't want to spend forever cleaning up pastries and stale coffee.

He's taking Thorin's mug home with him even though he usually keeps it at work. He may or may not be obsessed.

When he walks out to the dump to throw away the last bag of trash, Bilbo is surprised to find a familiar figure standing at the bus depot beside the entrance to the company property. Thorin looks dashing in his long navy coat with bistre fur around the collar. Bilbo's eyes are drawn to Thorin's bare hands, and he remembers a conversation months ago, about Tomas losing his gloves last winter.

_"It's still chilly enough that I don't leave home without a scarf. Gloves, though, I don't really need anymore."_

_"I wish I still had gloves. Lost them during a mess involving two taxis and a bus. My hands get cold easily... but perhaps you'll warm them up for me, burglar?"_

_"Well, if you like, I could be your gloves for a while, keep you warm..."_

Bilbo's chest swells with emotions that he cannot name, that irritate him and soothe him in the same instant. He is tired of worrying over Thorin, of missing Tomas, of aching for the intimacy and sex which never truly happened. Tomas was a personality from a phone sex company, and Thorin is a real person with emotions, beliefs, and intentions. Bilbo decides he wanted to understand Thorin more than Tomas, because Tomas does not exist.

"You haven't gotten any gloves yet, have you? Not since you lost the other pair."

Thorin visibly starts and turns to stare at him, blue eyes wide as he takes in Bilbo's disheveled appearance and irritated expression. Bilbo hasn't buttoned his coat and he left everything else upstairs, because it was only meant to be a short trip, yet he sees Thorin's gaze stray to his bare neck and hands worriedly.

"I haven't had the time," Thorin replies after a moment, his voice somewhat strangled. Bilbo nods as if he expected this, and something _right_ settles in his gut. "You can't be out in this weather like that --"

"Oh, I'm going right back inside," Bilbo says with a careless wave. "Now, you're standing out in freezing temperatures without any gloves on, with the intent to travel, and that's just not right. Stay here."

He goes back inside and runs up to his office, searching hurriedly through the small supply closet in the corner until he finds a slim box. He hears the hiss of steam as the bus stops outside, and he looks down at the street with dismay.

"Oh dear," Bilbo whispers, running from the room. He slows when he reaches the lobby, because surely Thorin has boarded the bus already. It is late and everyone is heading home; there is no reason for him to stay. Not even because Bilbo asked him.

Yet when Bilbo reaches the street again, Thorin is standing there waiting, and he looks even more ruffled than usual.

"Made me miss my bus," he mutters when Bilbo approaches him, jogging through the sleet, but his obvious irritation doesn't stop him from grabbing Bilbo's jacket to keep him from slipping on the icy sidewalk.

"Oh, thank you," Bilbo says breathlessly, staring up at Thorin. Then he pushes the box into Thorin's chest, his face heating up. "I, um, had these for a while. They're much too big for me and no one else I know will wear them, but they should suit you. They'll keep your hands warm."

Thorin's expression when he takes the box is muddled with confusion, but his eyes are bright as he meets Bilbo's hesitant gaze. "Thank you," he murmurs, his deep voice curling around Bilbo's ears, and he opens the box to find a pair of simple black leather gloves, long and far too large for anybody of Bilbo's size.

He cannot say that he bought them last winter, thinking of the man he was calling every week to give him orgasms. Bilbo had been far too embarrassed to send them to Tomas' company, but he had kept them anyway, knowing one day he could give them as a gift to somebody who might appreciate them.

Bilbo feels better giving them to Thorin than to Tomas, anyway, for all that they are the same person.

"I can't take these," Thorin says after a moment, but he lifts the gloves from the box, which Bilbo takes else Thorin tries to give them back. Thorin pulls them over his hands, sliding his fingers over his wrists in admiration. The gloves fit him perfectly, leather pulled taut, yet not uncomfortable.

"Good," Bilbo whispers, his face melting into a smile. He beams up at Thorin, tucking the box in his pocket and steps back. "They fit you perfectly. I'd hoped..." He has to silence himself then, his face flushing. That was too close to an admission, an open acknowledgement of their other relationship.

The moment of silence hangs between them heavily as Thorin watches him. The next bus turns the corner and drives, rattling, down the street, splashing as it slows to a stop by the depot. The doors creak open, and light spills over their figures. Bilbo can see Thorin's face, his stern brow and long nose, the downward turn of his mouth. He tries to etch that face into his memory, the softened creases around Thorin's eyes, his long lashes and the shadow of his thick hair.

"Have a good holiday, Mr. Baggins," Thorin murmurs, and Bilbo's heart leaps to his ears, which must be steaming red.

"Bilbo," he blurts out as Thorin turns to board the bus. "Call me Bilbo. Or burglar," he finishes feebly. He can't meet Thorin's gaze, but he also can't look away from his profile, darkened by the light of the bus behind him.

"Burglar, then," Thorin replies, his voice deep with satisfaction, and Bilbo watches as the door closes and the bus begins to roll away. The windows are tinted, so he does not see Thorin's face watching him, but he can feel eyes on him all the same, until the bus disappears into the night.

His face hurts from smiling so hard, but Bilbo really couldn't care.

~

Of course, Bilbo somehow runs into Thorin at the grocery, on the day before Christmas of all days. Never mind that they hadn't met outside work before, that Bilbo hadn't even known Thorin was living in the same city until he joined the company. No, of course the day that Bilbo is out of ingredients and has to battle the tall shelves of the grocery -- that's when Thorin meets him in public.

There is a box of dried onions at the very back of the top shelf, and Bilbo has been straining for the better part of a minute to reach it. He has one foot braced on the bottom-most shelf, and not a single person has stopped to help him. At least, not until he feels a rush of warmth behind him, and a moment later the box is taken from the shelf.

"Oh, I was reaching for that," Bilbo says, turning around as he hops down, but he shuts his mouth quickly when he comes face to face with a barrel-chested man in a dark grey sweater, whose blue eyes watch him with mirth.

"I'm aware," Thorin says, handing Bilbo the box. Even his shoulders are taller than Bilbo! It is most unfair. He has a small smile on his face, though, which makes Bilbo a bit happier.

"Thank you," Bilbo stutters, clearing his throat and tucking the box into his basket. Thorin has a cart, his coat and gloves hanging over the carrier. Bilbo is inordinately pleased to see that Thorin has kept his gloves. "Last minute, too?"

"Mm. The storm up north has kept my siblings out of the city until tomorrow, and they were supposed to do the shopping. I never get the right things," Thorin mutters, scowling down at his cart, which is oddly bare.

Bilbo laughs despite himself, shutting his mouth when Thorin's glare is turned on him, but his good mood cannot be dampened. He appreciates the little detail about Thorin's family. He is _such a stalker._ "Did they give you a list, at least?"

Thorin holds up a piece of paper silently, and Bilbo takes it, glancing over it with a hum.

"Oh, dear, they're definitely out of those soup stocks. You can make do, though, if you get some of the boosters and mix it with water and vegetables, simmer it with some lamb for an hour." Bilbo looks up to see the pathetically blank look on Thorin's face, and he erupts with laughter. "Oh, no, you can't cook, isn't that right? I forgot about that." His smile slips. Tomas had told him that.

"No, I can't," Thorin grumbles, ignoring Bilbo's shift in mood; his lovely cheekbones have stained pink. "I don't even know where half this nonsense is." He suddenly eyes Bilbo with renewed interest, his gaze shifting between Bilbo's reddening face and the paper. "You could show me, though. If you have time."

Bilbo fumbles with the list, glancing down at his basket. He only has a few items off his own list. It wouldn't hurt... would it? Thorin is inviting him, after all. And it would be a nice memory for the day. "Well..."

"You can put your basket in my cart," Thorin says decisively, then his tone turns enticing, in a rather familiar way. "You can show me everything I need. You've always been good at that... you always know what I want."

Bilbo looks up to see the determined glint in Thorin's eye fade abruptly to shock, as if realizing his own words and tone of voice. They had flirted constantly on the phone before, when Thorin was pretending to be Tomas, but now Bilbo wonders if Thorin is slipping into his Tomas persona, or if he himself is flirting.

"I should go," he replies quietly. This is a bad idea, and he knows better. He sets the list on Thorin's gloves and steps back, his gaze dropping. It seems easier than Bilbo imagined to turn away from Thorin.

"Wait," Thorin pleads, reaching out to touch Bilbo's shoulder. "Bilbo, don't go."

Bilbo stops short, twisting his head to stare up at Thorin, bewildered. "It's inappropriate. I shouldn't bother you like this."

Thorin makes a noise of frustration, that Bilbo does not recognize, yet it is familiar at the same time. He knows Thorin's voice so well, now, except it is more than just sexually charged. He hears so much more of who he is, and he wishes he could appreciate that without wanting the former.

"It's hardly inappropriate if I want you to stay, isn't it? You're not my boss. We work for the same company and I hardly even see you there, even though we speak to each other every day, and I want to change that. We had a good time before when you were my client. You're not my client now. If I want to spend time with you and get to know you as a person, as a potential partner, as more than a friendly interest, how is that inappropriate? You're not paying me anymore, burglar. I can do what I want. What I really want to know is... what do you want?"

Bilbo grips the scarf that hangs over his chest, gawking up at Thorin, who is out of breath and red-faced and beautiful in his fury. His eyebrows furrow warningly, and Bilbo realizes suddenly that while the charm and seduction were all Tomas, the grumpy attitude and teasing are all Thorin.

He has been _oblivious._

"I really want to take you out for dinner," Bilbo says quietly. "Or cook for you. Or let you take me out. I really don't care at this point, because I've liked you for ages and I tried to keep you out of my mind, so you could do your job without worrying about me harassing you, but I see now I've been really foolish. I really like you. I liked you when we were on the phone, and I like you now. I, um... I want to help you find ingredients for your Christmas dinner. And then, I want to give you my cell number, so we can text later while you complain about your siblings and I sigh at my cousins. Is that... alright?"

Thorin stares at him. Bilbo's entire face is on fire, but he meets Thorin's gaze bravely. Thorin seems to battle within himself, before his back straightens and he nods.

"May I kiss you, burglar?"

The request nearly knocks Bilbo off his feet. "Yes," he squeaks. "Oh, you're still calling me that? But I can't call you To--"

"Call me Thorin," is the response, and then Thorin suddenly much closer to Bilbo, their noses nudging as their eyes meet. Bilbo nods, mute with elation, and Thorin closes the distance between them.

Sweetness blossoms against Bilbo's lips, and he drops the basket and wraps his arms around Thorin's waist, standing up on his toes with a happy sigh. Thorin smells like cloves and aftershave, and he tastes like nothing Bilbo has ever imagined, yet everything Bilbo has ever wanted.

~

"Are we really doing this?"

"You're the one who went across the country for a conference."

"There's no need to sound so grumpy, you big clot. It's only for three days."

"Well, I can't have you in my bed for three days, so this is the only way. Now, are you going to be difficult about this?"

"W-well, no, I hadn't planned to be --"

"Hm, sounds like discipline is in order. Face down on the bed, burglar, so that I can see all of you. Spread out and vulnerable, trembling with desire for me..."

"Oh, _Thorin_ \--"

**Author's Note:**

> This started from a conversation where kaavyawriting and I were contemplating sex phone operator AUs, and I wanted to shake things up by making Thorin the operator and Bilbo the addicted client. It somehow works, hahaha. Thank you to kaavyawriting for beta reading and for the inspiration!


End file.
